


Man Flu is Decidedly Not Manly

by electrictoes



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-15
Updated: 2010-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrictoes/pseuds/electrictoes
Summary: Ianto Jones was dying. There was no other explanation for it. He was going to die slowly, painfully and buried somewhere within  his duvet.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Kudos: 2





	Man Flu is Decidedly Not Manly

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal

**Title:** Man Flu is Decidedly Not Manly  
 **Pairing(s):** Jack/Ianto  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Spoilers:** none, really  
 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing  
 **Summary:** Ianto Jones was dying. There was no other explanation for it. He was going to die slowly, painfully and buried somewhere within his duvet.  
 **Note(s):** Ficlet for [](https://tazza-di-jo.livejournal.com/profile)[**tazza_di_jo**](https://tazza-di-jo.livejournal.com/). With thanks to [](https://aranellaurelote.livejournal.com/profile)[**aranellaurelote**](https://aranellaurelote.livejournal.com/) , [](https://calliglad.livejournal.com/profile)[**calliglad**](https://calliglad.livejournal.com/) and [](https://ally-p-x.livejournal.com/profile)[**ally_p_x**](https://ally-p-x.livejournal.com/) for their help/feedback/being awesome. Title help would be very much appreciated!

Ianto Jones was dying. There was no other explanation for it. He was going to die slowly, painfully and buried somewhere within his duvet. The latter only because there was absolutely no way that he was moving. He doubted that movement was even physically possible; he was that close to death. He shivered and wondered if it would be possible for him to get up enough energy to reach down for the blanket at the foot of his bed. He attempted to lift his arms and decided that it simply wasn’t possible. He would have to die cold, too.

He entertained the idea of calling for help but his mouth was dry and his throat felt as though a packet of razorblades had taken up residence inside it. He coughed, spluttered and then frowned at the undignified nature of it all. It was embarrassing really; he was a Torchwood officer; he was supposed to die saving the world in a blaze of glory, not with a fever and a runny nose.

The light was making his eyes ache, but he certainly wasn’t moving to turn it off. He scrunched his eyes closed and tugged the duvet over his face a little more. He’d just lie here and ignore it all, hopefully he could drift off to sleep and then die in peace.

He was just settling towards his desire when it became perfectly clear that he was not going to die in peace or anything even vaguely resembling it. There was a pounding on his front door that resonated through his brain heavily; an army of elephants marching through his head. Thud, thud, thud. It _ached_. He wanted to call to whoever was making the noise and tell them that he was dying and he’d like to be left alone to get on with it, but he remembered the razorblades in his throat and decided better of it.

The thumping on the door stopped but then there were big pounding footsteps and Ianto wished he could talk because didn’t they realise his head hurt and he needed to be left alone to sleep and to live his last moments in relative calm? The footsteps stopped and his head was thankful, but the rest of him wasn’t because that meant that the someone was in his room and he couldn’t even tell them to go away.

But then the light was off and his eyes stopped aching and he felt just a little bit less like dying and then his blanket was over him and he felt warmer already. The bed was dipping a little and he almost attempted speech to protest but then there were cool hands on his forehead and it was a little bit like heaven and suddenly he really didn’t mind anymore and it didn’t matter that he could open his eyes now because he didn’t need to do that to know that the someone wasn’t just anyone but it was Jack and everything would be okay. Jack wasn’t going to let him die with a pounding head and cold feet and he didn’t have to speak because Jack knew Ianto’s thoughts without him saying them (and sometimes before Ianto had even finished thinking them) and his hands really were delightfully cold and his lips were pressed to Ianto’s hair and he could go to sleep now because everything hurt a little bit less and, really, he could get around to dying after he’d had a nap.

  


When Ianto woke up he felt far less like something had run over his head and when he swallowed experimentally there was much less pain in his throat. He wasn’t just aware of feeling better, though. He was aware of his cheek being pressed against something far more solid than his pillow and of strong arms around him. He was aware of the steady breathing of someone who wasn’t himself and when he opened his eyes, squinting in fear of the light before remembering that it had been turned off, he saw Jack.Jack holding him close while he slept, keeping Ianto safe just like he always did. His lips curled into a smile and he closed his eyes again.


End file.
